I think about the future a lot, but it’s usually in some wort of weird anxiety-filled consideration of all the bad parts that could possibly come my way. I think about who’s gonna die first between my husband and I. I wonder if sex is going to be weird once we are elderly. In my mind, sex past a certain age just doesn’t exist anymore because someone is going to break a hip or have a heart attack. I also spend a fair amount of time considering what it would be like if one of us becomes so ill that one has to take care of all of the other’s physical needs; like toilet stuff.
I have a bit of a selfish streak, but for the record I think we all have it somewhat. I’m just going to say it. I’m scared of having to wipe his butt one day. I’m horrible. There are some saintly people that take care of their loved ones every day. While I love my husband with all the matrimonial love in my heart, I was thinking I’d have to outsource this job if it ever came up.
This past weekend we were on our way to a winery and Omar was eating trail mix in the car on the way. As we got out of the car, I glanced over and saw a giant brown smear on his pants, right up the crack of his ass. It was all up in there.
“What is that?!”
“Dammit, I dropped some peanut butter chips in the seat.”
I laughed my ass off as he spun in circles trying to wipe his pants but was absolutely missing it.
He peered at me over his shoulder, “Can you help me?”
He came around to my side of the car as I got out a baby wipe. I always have baby wipes handy. I’m a mom. I’m always wiping butts and hands and noses. We stood in the parking lot of a nice winery, with me wiping his ass. I couldn’t help but think about my premature paranoia of having to wipe his butt when he’s old and ill and I continued to laugh. I laughed so hard there were tears stinging my eyes. It’s really hard to wipe peanut butter out of the crack of someone’s butt when you can’t see due to laughter tears. I laughed harder and harder at the thought of other people potentially seeing me try to clean his butt in a parking lot, and I just couldn’t get it all.
“How big were these fuggin peanut butter chips?!?! How many did you drop!?!?!”
With that I doubled over in laughter, imagining myself asking these types of questions if this was real life. I imagined us being able to laugh through anything, but that’s probably because peanut butter has a very different smell. I realized if I had to wipe anyone’s ass, it would be his.
One more burst of laughter sprang forth as I said, “This would be a lot easier if you’d bend over.”
The Well-Adjusted Adult 